Aftercare

Apologies for the radio silence. It's been a busy few weeks. After the interrogation scene I had a wonderful week in the UK catching up with friends and enjoying lots of treats and parties.

Asides from that, and the vanilla activities which have also been keeping me busy, I haven't actually felt like blogging. I've come to accept that and to not panic when I can't make myself write. Partly it was because I was still processing the big scene. Right now I look back at it and think 'wow can't believe I did that'. Even have to think a little bit harder to capture those feelings of terror formed on the night.

After the scene I was as high as a kite. It was the middle of the night and we had a long drive back to London so after a brief time going over the scene we had to split up and head back. Cath and I passed the time chatting excitedly and texting Abel who hadn't been able to sleep until he'd heard from us.

Once back in London we crashed out for a few hours sleep, exhaustion getting the better of the adrenalin. The next morning I crashed immediately. I had woken before Cath and lay replaying the scene over, inspecting the bruises and marks, thinking the fear through. I needed her to wake up, to talk, to relive it. But even then that wasn't enough. I knew I'd see Abel later that day but I  had to call HH, the only other person I've gone to places that dark with.

I told him every detail, of how scared I was, how horrible it had been and I cried for the first time. At that moment I would have given anything to be able to hug him, and he felt the same. How hard it was for him to hear my ordeal but not be able to check for himself that I was OK.

Mistress Switch commented on the original post about the importance of aftercare, and being looked after emotionally after such a massive scene. Unfortunately I hadn 't appreciated how much I'd be affected and had a whole weekend of events planned .

So I wasn't free to go back and meet the interrogators and the other victims over the weekend. And this was something I badly needed; I needed to come down with the same people I have gone up with. Luckily I was with very close friends however, who were wonderfully understanding and supportive. Like Jessica and Scarlett and Haron who generously let me talk at length about the scene. And of course I had Cath to bounce off and Mistress Switch checking in regularly. Not to mention my dear Abel to provide hugs and support and try not to fuss me to death ;-) 

And I had my blog. It has become a really important step in processing deep scenes and in this case was much needed. I felt better once I'd expunged it all from my mind, didn't have to cling onto all the details so tightly, could let them start to fade naturally.

Between all the lovely people I was nicely distracted, hanging out with Jessica and the menage, an evening of adult kinky fun at Mr Jenkin's bordello and preparing for the Fawcett Hall Speakeasy on the Saturday which was a really fun party.

But I had a little breakdown Saturday night, when I came face to face with  Mr Allen and Ms Stoker. Two former victims (and in Mr Allen's case interrogator) they knew exactly where my head was at and provided much needed emotional support. We talked at length about the scene, my concerns and how I was feeling. Then Mr Allen gave me a deliciously hard strapping that let me cry out my release.

A day of chill with my darling Eliane on the Sunday meant I was almost completely restored Sunday evening. And my final act of processing was to email Mr Evil and Mistress Switch with my queries on the scene. The why and when and what happened over the night.

Sometimes when I'm droppy I feel negative about things and in this case I was worried that whilst I had such an amazing experience what had they got out of playing with me? I hadn't fought back, should I have? Was it boring for the interrogators dealing with me when I spaced out? Why did I get more cycles of water, did they not think they had broken me? All of which seem funny now, the whole idea of wondering whether I was a good enough water boarding victim! I was firmly reassured on all counts! And when we met for drinks mid week the final stage of processing was complete as we all laughed and teased each other as equals, interrogators vs victims no more.

Thank you all who made the experience what it was and those who picked me up afterwards, including all the comments on the blog. I am privileged to know such wonderful people.

If...

Mistress Switch, the organiser and one of the main interrogators of the scene I alluded to in my last post, has given me permission to disclose the details of the interrogation. At this point I make little attempt to analyse my feelings, but to merely recount the scene and how I got through it.

Before you read this please remember that although I was going into the unknown I completely trusted the two main players, Mistress Switch and Mr Evil. (I did not know until after who the others were, but knew they too would be trustworthy and capable). The premise of doing such a scene is to come in with an open mind and see it through to the end. There are no limits and there are no safewords. By entering into it you are giving consent for them to do what it takes to break you.  

All are very experienced people who know what they are doing. Furthermore, there are several of them, all very closely monitoring each participant. I would not do this type of scene with anyone I don't trust 100%. And whilst there are parts of this I never wish to do again, I do not regret a moment of it. I am proud to have survived it. And I am still buzzing from the high!

If you can fill the unforgiving hour,

There were five of us. Three men, only one of whom I knew and my twin, Catherine. Waiting to be transported to our destination, all nervous. Our phones beeped, each given the three pieces of information we we were not to reveal to our interrogators. For the first time I felt optimistic about the scene, I now had a purpose. It was game on.

We finally set off and after a long drive we arrived in the wooded camp. As instructed, got out of our car and  knelt on the ground in a line facing forward, with arms out stretched. They approached us from behind, one captor for each of us. Dropped hoods across our heads and dark goggles across the hoods. Our sight was gone and would not return until the end of this ordeal, some four hours later.

We were led away, one by one and ordered to strip naked. Given a thin paper jumpsuit to wear and ordered to put just one of our shoes on. And finally our wrists were secured tightly behind our backs, in my case with cable ties.

With sixty minutes worth of distance run,

Once restrained I was led to the sound room where various static and white noises played loudly. I was put in a variety of positions, for 15-20 mins at a time. Each uncomfortable and made worse by having only one shoe on, making it impossible to balance the body. I tried to block out the noise but could not, and in the second position could feel myself begin to faint. I'd read about stress positions and sensory deprivation, but nothing prepared me for the reality. I started to buckle out of position, nausea building. One of the captors put me back into position. A few mins later I buckled again.

This time they moved me to kneeling upright on the floor, I swayed from side to side, happy to pass out, hoped it would happen even.

Suddenly grabbed roughly from behind and dragged outside. My heart quickened. But despite my fear the fresh air was welcome and I breathed deeply through my hood. They marched me round the woods, my one bare foot scratching on stones and thistles. Left me to stand alone for a short time then dragged me back down to the main building. Forced my poor bare foot into a bucket of cold water, but I did not flinch. I was already retreating into my self, into my own head. It was lovely there. These people couldn't hurt me there.

Over and over I recited Kipling to myself, it became my main way of coping and as the ordeal wore on I focused on it more and more.

When I was finally let out of the water they lay me face down in the mud. It was lovely and soft and earthy and I was happy to use the two senses they hadn't cut off. I would happily have stayed there for the rest of the night.

Then it was more stress positions, this time outside. One, head on a table, shoulders hunched, knees bent and feet uneven. Again I retreated in side my head, until one of then rapped on the table hard, the impact made me bite my lip in shock. But I made no sound. Because I was not there. I was gone.

Then yours is the earth,

I have no idea how much time passed before I was brought before him, the chief interrogator. Sat on a high stool, my hood and goggles removed, I staring at a the bright light in front of me. Tried, and failed, to see the man behind it.

The questions were easy, but I struggled to answer. I was not there, my conscious had floated away and talking had become an effort.

'What age are you ?'

I wasn't sure, was I 28 or 29, I had a birthday soon my foggy mind reasoned, but then was I 30?

'What are your brothers called?'

Oh yes I told him, I had two brothers didn't I? It took a long time to get their names out. He mentioned my Dad, called him by his name. How did he know that I vaguely wondered? What did my Dad do for a living? My answer made little sense.

Then he asked who was Harry? My conscious became more alert. Harry (my teddy bear) was in my rucksack in the car and I was afraid. What would they to do him? I told him I didn't know any Harry. He asked again and wasn't happy at my refusal to answer.

A plastic bag over my head was my reward. Sealed tight, they then opened and shut it slowly, releasing little whiffs of air. I tried to keep calm, panicky gulps of air were not going to help. The bag came off and he asked again? Asked what was in my rucksack. I named every item except Harry.

When they finished with me I was led back to the edge of the sound room. Made to kneel up, head on a stool. My leg quickly went dead but strangely I found a vaguely comfortable position by sliding my head to the side and then I disappeared again. Bocking out the pain in my leg, the weight of my shoulders, the stiffness in my wrists. It must have been at least half an hour before I was moved. When they lifted me up I promptly fell over, my foot was too dead to feel, to stand on. So they leaned me in a corner, my head dipped in support, until my leg agonisingly came back to feeling.

I had heard little from my fellow captives through the evening, semi aware of them being moved around. Once I heard Catherine fighting back, another time I heard moans of pain from someone in the distance.

Then from beside me came more definite moans of pain, getting louder, until he was told to shut up by one of the captors. I trembled wondering what was next to befall me. ( Later Loki explained his handcuffs had become unbearable.)

All of a sudden the static sound was turned up very loud. Listening to it made me dizzy again so I chanted Kipling aloud. And suffered a bucket of water in consequence, but again I made no sound, I was not there. 

Yours is the earth and everything that is in it,

It felt like a very long time before they came for me. Led me outside. My bare foot felt water on the ground, I could sense several of the captors around me and the terror set in. I knew even before being lifted onto the bench that this was the dreaded water boarding.

I was laid out flat, my head at the edge. A thick, tight fitting hood was placed over my head. I immediately felt claustrophobic. The chief interrogator asked me did I have information for him. I denied it. He pushed me back on the bench, someone sat on my legs, others gripped my arms. I tried to brace myself.

The water started to pour, I held my breath, but eventually my nose and mouth were filled with water, and I struggled desperately to get up. When they released me I was panicking, gulping for air. But my big gulps just made the hood tighter, and I inhaled more water. He ordered me to calm down and  I blurted out the information he needed. But he laughed and told me he hadn't asked for it yet. When they pushed me back I begged and pleaded hysterically to be let go.

The second time was worse, knowing how it would feel in advance. Again I held as long as I could, and again came up screaming and panicking. The third time was just as horrendous. That awful moment when you have to open your mouth and the water consumes you. I thought of all the things I could say to make them stop. And yet there was nothing I knew would work. I have never felt more terrified or helpless in my whole life. Even now I can  feel that fear. On the 4th time he told me if I could stay down as long as he expected me to, if I took it well and didn't fight or struggle he might stop it there.

I held my breath as long as I could, I took the water as long as I could until I jerked my head up. And screamed in terror that it hadn't been long enough, that he'd do it again. Right then I would have given him anything he asked for, even Harry.

(What I didn't find out until later was that I was taking staying down for logner than the others and therefore taking a huge amount of water. All because I was too terrified of him to think of fight back!)

When they let me down they led me shaking and weeping to a tree nearby where I found Catherine and two of the men already there. It had taken two attempts for her to reveal the information and I could not believe her bravery in resisting after the first round of it. We clutched hands, and wet and shivering we listened to the last of our party be broken. When he finally joined us at the tree I had managed to compose myself slightly, was able to extend my hand to him, whispering comfort.

They came for each of us then, once at a time. In my turn I went in terror, praying they wouldn't do anything else. I was broken. I almost fainted with relief when Mr Evil declared that was 'it'. Fell into Mistress Swtich's and my co-captives's arms  in ecstasy at having survived.

And which is more, you will be a man, my son.

Control freak, freaking out!

Like many bottoms, I'm a control freak. In everyday life  I'm bossy, independent and determined. Not at all submissive. It's that classic cliche, where the person dominant in real life turns to submission in kink, for the release, the liberation.

In my last post on roleplay there were lots of great comments around the ability to roleplay characters vs playing  as ourselves. As the post focused on roleplay I didn't talk much about playing as me. But I actually do, much more than might have come across.

With some people, playing as me is about being submissive in a private and sexual way; sexual pleasure, sensory touching, gentle dominance or rough beatings and sex. With others it's about real discipline which is the hardest to take. Having to admit I have messed up and  that I deserve punishment. The discipline kink is so powerful for me that it can't be faked. A roleplayed girl who is being disciplined causes not half the depth of emotion that me, Emma Jane, feels when it's actually real.

Yet my roleplay characters are important too. They free me from the everyday me, the controller aiming to be a perfectionist. So I don't feel I hide behind them, but they are a useful tool to release my inhibitions. Kaelah wrote she couldn't imagine playing a character that she didn't like or that wasn't a part of her. I think that's true for me too,  and I don't think I play characters that aren't part of my id.

I didn't like Lucy Plackett, but she was still me. She's the not so nice part of me, the little voice in the head that just wants to be mean, to get one's own way, to enjoy having power over people. I like to think that my other nicer and more pleasing traits dominate that little bit of me, keep it hidden, at least most of the time. But I loved being able to set her free in a controlled and safe environment.

Roleplay works so well for me cos I can think it through, after all for most of us kink and the sexual thrill are created  in our heads.. The upcoming dark fantasy I am planing with HH is one that goes through my head over and over. I imagine the girl, what she'll say, how she'll react, picture her crying, picture how scared and helpless she is. Play it over in my head so when we do play it then I will be her.

I never knew what self-visualisation was until I did a psychology course at college, but it's something I've always practiced. Before public speaking at school I'd act it out in my head, see the audience, feel calm and confident. And even prepping for interviews now, I'm going through every conceivable question and answering it confidently and accurately.

The control freak in me is reassured by such preparation. Just as she is before roleplay scenes that are thought through, discussed, dressed for. Not that I am allowed to dictate the scene but I generally have an idea of the level of severity, and just how dark and scary it might be.

Of course in real punishment, there isn't any reassurance to be got by thinking it through in advance. That only deepens the shame of being in trouble. I know that it'll hurt and that I'll cry and plead that I'm sorry; but that's all that I know. The control freak is OK with that though, because it's a punishment for stepping outside the boundaries that were agreed.  The control freak loves rules and boundaries and defined consequences for breaking them. That's easy.

But I have a scene coming up soon where I have absolutely no control over what happens. I have no idea what will be done to me, how long it will last or how I will react. I don't even know for sure who's actually going to be there as the tormentors. I try to visualise the scene but can't, having never done anything like it before. And others who've gone through it are careful not so share any details. So I'm left with fearful anticipation and wild guessing. With no idea what end of the spectrum my guesses are landing. The control freak is freaking out.

I have thought of pulling out. Thought of many excuses, even a list of ailments that could prevent me from going through with it. Reasoned that with everything else going on right now it's not the best time to do such a scene. Trotted this theory out to people like Abel and HH, hoped almost they'd make the decision for me. Even my dreams are disturbed as the control freak expresses her outrage at getting her into this mess.

I'm going to have to block her out, because for reasons I can't really explain I want to go through with this. I want to turn up blind and put myself through the unknown. I will try to stay strong and endure bravely. If I cannot endure bravely, I will endure anyhow. I'm genuinely curious to know how I will react to this complete and utter lack of control, to know how the control freak will cope.

A tale of two L's

The variety of roleplay characters I manage to play never ceases to amaze me. A new scene is proposed and I have to come up with an identity. What does the scene call for? Is she a quiet girl or a boisterous one? Is she nervous or confident? Fearless or timid?

A quick scan over all my personas often leads to to one being commissioned and I can slip into her like a soft kid glove. For situations or people that are new to me I often default to such a character. Bringing Caoilfhionn to Finishing School is one such example. Despite not knowing either of the teachers or many of the girls, I never felt out of my depth.

Let me digress here momentarily. Although bringing a fully formed character like her may have been difficult for the FS teachers, they never let it phase them. Even during one scene where I was so deep as Caoilfhionn I cried for half an hour! For her naughtiness in harming school property (jumping on the trampoline in the snow!) she was forbidden from wearing her pretty dress to the party for the gentlemen that evening, ordered to wear her uniform instead. Poor Caoilfhionn was so distraught at the shame of having disappointed Mrs Darling and Miss Hammond-Grant so much that she'd earned this horrendous punishment. In the end I had to come out of role and be assured Caoilfhionn wasn't a hated girl, but merely it was a punishment they always planned to give someone and as the naughtiest girl, and a lively character at that, she seemed a good choice. And that was exactly right, I, EJ would have coped with the punishment, but Caoilfhionn could not!

However, there are many times a scene demands a new persona and I must invent her. What will the scene entail? Is it light or dark? Does it require submission or fight?  Most importantly what do I want to feel from the scene. Empowered or abused? Loved or despised? The final step is to name her and give her background and context to my play partner. The more realistic I make her, the more I can believe in her. For example a girl who is a prefect and Captain of the Hockey team is not likely to have a poor academic record and little respect from the teachers. Or a reformatory inmate arrested for prostitution is not going to have much education.

Last week I was listening to Neil Jordan (Irish writer and directer) give an interview on a local radio show. The presenter made reference to the protagonist in his latest book and asked how easy was it to write the story down, to tell the character what to do. Jordan's reply was that it was not a matter of him dictating to the character, but rather he was following where the character demanded to go.

And thus it is with my characters and why I love roleplay so much. This ability to throw on a slightly different skin at will and let the character loose.To get lost in an alter ego and follow where she wanders.

So let me introduce you to Lily and Lucy. Two more different characters I could not invent. Lily was an orphan at the Sailors' Orphans Institute. The institute relied heavily on the generosity of an old Colonel, who made substantial donations to the orphange as well as larger personal gifts to the warden. In return he would often request the company of one of the oldest girls. What he wanted the girl for was not talked of, but they were required to do everything he asked of them and the girls lived in fear of getting a bad report on their return. The last girl to visit him had got just that, a poor report and a refusal to have her visit again. The poor girl was birched until she screamed, every day for a week for this failure to please him. And all the older girls were made to watch, to understand their fate if he was disappointed again.

When it's Lily's turn to visit she is petrified. She takes the train alone, nervously watching for her stop. When she finally arrives she needs the bathroom and spends a few minutes tidying her clothes and trying to calm her nerves. (We decided to play the scene in role from the minute I arrive off the train and I fall into character so quickly, become so terrified, that the station master asks me am I OK!)

The Colonel is standing on the other side of the turnstiles, a cane in his hand and looking very impatient. 'What's all this shillyshallying?' he demands. Then turns on his heel and marches out of the station. (The hotel is maybe a 5 minute walk away, but it feels like 50 and I'm worried I'm actually going to be sick with fear as we walk there). At the hotel Lily nervously answers his questions and dares not resist when he undresses and inspects her.(T he scene continues until we leave the hotel for lunch and to my relief HH asks do I want to break role over lunch. The plan was to stay in role with him watching and evaluating her throughout. I'm thankful he gives me a break however, as I'm too upset to be able to talk or eat!)

Poor Lily suffered much at his hands, but as she was a very compliant and submissive little thing she doesn't disappoint him and returns to the orphanage in relief. Lucy Plackett on the other hand was a very different matter!

Lucy was the first character I ever played that I didn't actually like. She had no respect for authority, cared for no-one else's opinion and was quite a bully to the other girls. And horror of horrors she refused to wear her uniform properly. She was pupil at St. Anne's reform school and came to life during a detention scene with several other girls attending a party hosted by Martha.

The only person Lucy liked, and grudgingly at that, was Suzanne McNally, a tough scouse girl. After sizing each other up, realising they couldn't bully the other they called a truce and decided to rule the school together. In truth Lucy was an aggressive little bitch. From her Essex face lift (due to her hair being scraped back so tightly!) to her sneer, there was nothing to commend her to anyone. And the increasingly harder whackings doled out by the teachers had no effect on her at all. She still threatened to cut Candy and Rosemary's plaits off for crossing her, deemed Jemima So and So Gored too wet to even notice and Faye became her own personal bitch.

Not sure I want to bring her out to play too often and the other girls definitely don't want to see her again anytime soon. But even playing her I still felt the same liberation of just letting go and seeing where I end up!